


Enamel Eyes

by SugarsweetRomantic



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ballet, Christmas Isn't Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Post-Defeat of Rittenhouse (Timeless), References to Depression, References to anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 06:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18404993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarsweetRomantic/pseuds/SugarsweetRomantic
Summary: Months after the defeat of Rittenhouse, Lucy suddenly gets a call.





	Enamel Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: references to depression, not eating and anxiety.

His call is unexpected. They haven't spoken since their very last debriefing, not even via text message, so when her phone rings and the display blinks  _ Garcia Flynn  _ at her, Lucy Preston lets out a soft: “Huh.” 

“...Lucy?” She feels like his accent has gotten thicker since she walked out of the Homeland Security office building, but it's a familiar sound that brings a slight smile to her face.

“Flynn,” she replies, sitting up in the queen-sized bed and pulling the duvet up to her chest. Her T-shirt slips off of her shoulder.

“I'm sorry, did I wake you?” he asks. It's half past eight o'clock in the evening on a Saturday. 

“No,” she lies. He remains silent. “What can I do for you, Flynn?” she asks eventually. 

“Where are you?” That’s...not a question she had expected to hear.

“At home?” Lucy replies, confused. She reaches for the thermos on her nightstand and takes a sip of lukewarm rooibos tea.

“No, I…” he sighs. “On the globe?” Oh. 

“Hillsborough.”

“Go out with me tomorrow night?” he asks suddenly, immediately adding: “That came out wrong, I mean... _ jebemu _ …” 

“Yes.” She surprises herself with her answer, but there's no taking it back now. 

 

Lucy texts him her address. The reply comes nearly instantly. 

_ I will pick you up at 19:00. The dress code is formal.  _

She wants to text back that she's usually in bed by then, these days, but she doesn't. Instead, she grabs another ten milligrams of Restoril, using her tea to swallow the capsule, and lies back down. 

 

The next evening, Lucy is sitting on her sofa. It still smells new, as does the blanket that’s currently covering her lower half and providing some semblance of warmth. The TV is on, but she’s not watching, and a half-eaten bowl of fruit salad stands forgotten on the kitchen counter. She’s watching the clock.

At exactly seven o’clock, the doorbell sounds. The noise itself startles her, and she nearly sends her glass of water flying towards the floor. Getting up, Lucy moves over to the hallway and opens the door. Flynn has his back turned towards her, seemingly surveying his surroundings.

“Garcia?” she asks quietly, and he spins around to face her.

“Lucy,” he replies, taking in her appearance. “You look…” He might not say it, but she can see it in his eyes. _Thin. Too thin._ Her navy dress does nothing to hide her figure. “Beautiful.” 

“Thank you.” He's in a three-piece suit, his jacket buttoned up neatly. His form isn't exactly skinny, but there's a grey hue to his skin. She's not the only one struggling to adapt, it seems. “Where are we going?”

 

As Flynn guides her into the War Memorial Opera House, Lucy holds on to his arm with the tightest grip she can muster. The building is big and bright and loud and everything she has been avoiding. Her first instinct is to get out as quickly as possible, but Flynn's gentle presence to her right keeps her somewhat grounded. An employee inspects their tickets and nods her head, signaling a nearby usher, who politely comments: “Sir, Miss, if you'll follow me please?” 

The young man guides them through the crowd of people in the lobby and past a series of doors until they reach a loge on the second floor, where he leaves them. 

“Mrs Flynn has been alerted of your presence,” the usher notifies Flynn as he walks away, and Lucy feels her heart drop into her stomach. 

“Mrs Flynn?” she asks on a whisper, not daring to look at his face. Is Lorena alive, somehow? Flynn gently pushes the show's information booklet into her field of vision, pointing at the photo of a middle-aged woman of colour. The text below her portrait reads:  _ Maëlys Flynn-Zerezghi, Ballet Master.  _ Oh.

“I have a brother now,” Flynn explains, “and a sister-in-law. I met them last month.”

“That must be...strange,” Lucy comments. It's the only adjective that comes to mind other than  _ unfair _ .

“Gabriel isn't big on me, but this timeline's version of me seems to have found a way to get on Maëlys’ good side. She's...a lot like you, actually. Though from Eritrea, and not as uncoordinated.” He chuckles softly, but he quiets down when he realises she's not laughing along with him. He freezes. “Lucy, I--” He takes her right hand into both of his. “I'm so sorry, that was incredibly insensitive of me.” Lucy shakes her head.

“It's alright. I'm happy for you.” She is; she truly is, but that doesn't make her insides hurt less. It's as if her soul has been torn into pieces and thrown into the ocean, never to be reassembled again without Amy in her life. She's just so lost without her.

 

The lights dim, and the music starts, and within mere seconds Lucy finds herself entranced by the artistry on the stage as Coppélius rejoices in the elegance of his Coppélia and a marriage between Swanhilda and Franz, reunited in love. She's leaning forward, Flynn's protective arm around her waist keeping her from falling. The music is loud and happy and  _ distracting  _ and for the first time in months, she feels something remotely positive bloom in her heart.

Three acts pass by quickly though, and before Lucy knows it the lights come back on, exposing her to every emotion once more and her body feels heavier than ever before.

 

“Garcia Flynn, in the flesh!” The comment is uttered behind them in a thick French accent. “And this must be Miss Preston.” 

“Maëlys,” Flynn greets the woman as he turns his head. Getting up from his seat, he kisses her hand before reaching to help Lucy up. “Maëlys Flynn-Zerezghi, meet Dr Lucy Preston.” The ballet master smiles at her and gracefully shakes her hand.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr Preston. Garcia, I thought you'd never accept the tickets!” she chastises Flynn. He ducks his head and responds: “I just needed the right company.” 

“Speaking of your lovely company,” Maëlys comments, “I have a late arrival here who insisted on coming up here to see you.”

“You do?” Flynn responds, immediately putting himself between Lucy and the entrance of the loge, his hand at his hip, instinctively grasping a pistol that he no longer carries. 

“Miss?” Maëlys calls out, and a multitude of possibilities cross through Lucy's mind. Denise needs her for another mission. Emma or her mother, somehow. Jessica. 

“Lucy!” The young woman flings herself at her, and Lucy nearly collapses onto the floor.

“Amy?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading; I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> \--
> 
> Lucy's dress inspiration: https://www.jenclothing.com/db-db1114-08-gldprst-pt.html


End file.
